


given consciously with pleasure

by connyhascontrol



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Lesbian AU, Misunderstandings, dykes on bikes, they share one brain cell and she's on vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connyhascontrol/pseuds/connyhascontrol
Summary: Girls find her intimidating. Trixie is big, and loud, and confident, and whoever came up with the rumor that lesbians are demure and only like to hold hands had certainly never met her. It’s unfortunate that the one woman who doesn’t seem to be bothered by any of that is the one who stole her bike.or:I joined Plenty Of Fish to find out who stole my bike. A fun first date would be going to your house to see if you have my bike. (What a lovely home. Do you have a shed?)
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 19
Kudos: 158





	given consciously with pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoanneElizabeth (joanneelizabeth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanneelizabeth/gifts).



> This is a birthday present for [JoanneElizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanneelizabeth/pseuds/JoanneElizabeth) who deserves so much joy not just on her birthday and during this weird time but every day of her life. I love you, and I'm grateful to have you in my life!!
> 
> A big thank you to [beanierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose) for cheering me on while writing and for looking this over for me, you're an angel.
> 
> This was based on the prompt: I joined Plenty Of Fish to find out who stole my bike. A fun first date would be going to your house to see if you have my bike. (What a lovely home. Do you have a shed?)

Her bike is gone. Like,  _ gone _ gone. At first Trixie thought maybe the custodian had moved it inside. He’s told her plenty of times that she’s not supposed to leave it leaning against the wall in the backyard of her apartment complex, but he can’t seriously expect her to carry it up the two flights of stairs to her apartment every day. 

Not that she uses it every day. She used to, before winter hit and it was too cold to drive to work on her bike. She told herself she’d get back to it when the weather got milder, but the bike has been outside all winter and she’d have to at least pump up the tires and clean it. Also taking the bus was faster and more comfortable. So she hadn’t. And now the bike is gone. 

She had noticed when she went to take out the trash and it wasn’t leaning in its usual spot. Trixie had checked the hallways of the building, even the basement that’s cold and damp and frankly a bit spooky so she never goes there, but nothing. She had even swallowed her pride and called the custodian to ask if he moved it, but he hadn’t. All that got her was a lecture about how she should have listened earlier, and if it got stolen that was her own fault for not locking it up. Trixie had quietly listened and rolled her eyes, hanging up after a cursory  _ thanks, bye _ .

So somebody must have stolen it. Trixie absolutely cannot imagine why somebody would do that; it’s not a  _ nice _ bike. Technically it’s not even hers. She found it in the storage space assigned to her apartment in the ooky spooky basement when she moved in. The person who lived there previously must have left it rather than bothering with disposing of it. It was in a terrible state when Trixie found it, so she never felt bad for neglecting it the way she did over the winter. She also thought nobody would want the rusty, run-down thing, but apparently she was wrong.

It’s not so much about the bike as it is about the fact that somebody stole something from her. That Trixie hadn’t put a lock on it and left it unattended for months didn’t change anything, no matter what Kim said. It had been standing in the backyard that was only accessible through the always locked front door of the building, not in the street where anybody could just take it. She’s not that careless. It also means that the only people who could have taken it are her neighbors.

It makes Trixie suspicious of everyone she meets on the stairs or by the mailboxes. The only person she can cross off her list of suspects is Mrs. Johnson who lives across the hall from her, and who is approximately 400 years old. Even a trip to her front door is a strain for her, there’s no way she could carry a bike.

After some consideration Trixie also disregards the woman who Trixie thinks lives two floors above her, and who often gets groceries for Mrs. Johnson. She’s clearly a better person than Trixie could ever be, and she would never take an unsuspecting person’s bike. 

She’s also extremely hot. It’s the reason why Trixie is even aware of her. Trixie has spent an embarrassing amount of time watching her through her spyhole while the woman waits for Mrs. Johnson to make it to the door. She always has the reusable bags slung over her shoulders as if they weigh nothing while she lightly bounces in place, whistling tonelessly to herself. 

Trixie has only met her once, when they’d both gotten their mail at the same time. The spyhole had never let her look at the woman’s shoes, but that day Trixie immediately clocked her Birkenstocks and went back to her apartment with the certainty that her hot neighbor was gay. It helped that she had definitely checked Trixie out, and then blushed and looked like a deer caught in headlights when Trixie wished her a nice day before putting some extra swing into her hips when sauntering up the stairs.

None of this is helpful. The only two neighbors Trixie knows anything about are the two who are definitely not the culprit. She suspects the middle-aged guy who lives on the ground floor, but she has to admit she has no proof; he’s just an unpleasant guy. She considers putting a note up asking if anybody has seen her bike, and if so to please let her know, but if it was stolen (which is the only possible explanation at this point) the person won’t just admit to it. Short of breaking into all of her neighbors’ places she has no more options. 

She could go to the police and report her stolen bike that’s not actually hers, and that she did very little to protect from being stolen. They’d call her a bumpkin, and tell her to be more careful with her stuff. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong about either of those things.

Trixie has no other option than to accept her fate. Three days after discovering that it’s gone missing, she considers buying a new bike; a nice one in a pretty color that has fully functioning brakes and a saddle that doesn’t make her butt hurt after two minutes. That might be a nice thing to save some money for, she thinks. 

Until everything she thought she knew about people is proven wrong. 

It had been a slow day at the salon and Dela sent her home an hour early. At home she goes to use the bathroom and while she sits on the toilet she looks up from her Instagram feed. Something pink outside catches her eye, and she cranes her neck to look out of the window. There in the backyard Trixie spots her hot neighbor with a bike. That looks an awful lot like hers, except pink.

Betrayal washes through Trixie both hot and cold. How could she do this to her? Doesn’t she know Trixie regularly thinks about going upstairs to hot neighbor’s apartment to ask for sugar? Or to help Trixie fix her fuse box? Or to ride her face on the living room floor? Apparently Trixie was wrong about her; she’s not the selfless, sexy dyke she appears to be. 

And what does she think she would accomplish by painting it pink? Trixie isn’t stupid, she knows that’s her bike. And pink doesn’t even suit hot neighbor, like, at all. It’s all wrong for her aesthetic. She looks like she used to be a punk chick ten years ago, but has grown out of it for the sake of comfort. She still wears a lot of black -- smudged around her eyes too -- but the shirts are usually paired with washed out, high-waisted jeans. Her ears still have plenty of piercings but they hide behind the blonde waves that fall down to the middle of her back -- slightly ashy and obviously real, unlike the yellow blonde Dela refreshes for Trixie at the salon for half of what they’d charge a customer.

When hot neighbor had started doing grocery runs for Mrs. Johnson and Trixie had first noticed her, the leaves were just beginning to turn orange, but the summer heat had still been lingering. It meant she didn’t wear a jacket, and through the spyhole Trixie’s eyes had hungrily traced the tattoos on her arms. Those featured heavily in all of Trixie’s fantasies. All in all, she was not a pink kinda gal.

That’s what Trixie thinks about as she sits in her bathroom, watching her neighbor pick up  _ her _ bike and carry it inside. By the time she’s made it down the stairs and into the yard there is no trace of either of them, so Trixie returns to her apartment.

She isn’t sure where exactly hot neighbor lives, apart from upstairs somewhere. She doesn’t know her name so she can’t simply ring. She should have paid closer attention when they met at the mailboxes. Now her options are limited. Trixie could knock on every door until she finds the right one, but it’s a big building and Trixie has no intention of meeting all of her neighbors and explaining what she’s doing there. 

She’ll just have to wait until she comes back with groceries for Mrs. Johnson, and then accost her in the hall.

That is until Trixie browses Tinder that night, more out of boredom than the desire to meet somebody, and her hot neighbor smiles at her from her phone screen. Now there’s the irrefutable proof that she’s interested in women. Her name is Katya, or at least that’s what she put on her profile. Who knows what the truth is anymore. She looks deceptively sweet the way she grins into the camera with her ridiculously big, white teeth. It’s a candid shot, and slightly blurry. She has her arms crossed in front of her on the table she’s sitting at, and they’re bare, defined, and covered in tattoos. As if Trixie needed more proof that she’s hot. Not that it really matters now that Trixie knows she’s a thief and a scammer who makes innocent lesbians think horny thoughts about her.

She’s swiped right before she’s given herself the chance to think about it. Only then does she look at Katya’s profile. She claims to be 32, and the only thing she has written in her description is  _ Shoot for the moon; if you miss you will die in outer space, which is cool.  _ That’s… worrying. Or funny. Maybe both. Trixie doesn’t have time to make up her mind because a notification pops up that Katya swiped right on her too, suggesting Trixie should send her a message. Maybe that could be her in. She can’t straight up accuse Katya; she needs to gather some intel first. 

Before she can come up with a strategy, she gets a message. Right, Katya got the same notification she did, and apparently she’s a woman of action not just when it comes to criminal activities. Trixie opens the new conversation with a frown. She’s going to have to be charming and subtle. Neither of those are her strong suit, she’s well aware, but Katya messaged her, so chances are she finds her hot. 

_ Katya: Hi! I don’t know if you remember but we’ve met, we live in the same building. I’m just pointing that out in case you see me around and think I’m a stalker _

While Trixie is still reading that message, Katya sends another.

_ I’m not, I promise _

Trixie snorts. 

_ Trixie: omg of course I remember! any other crimes you have definitely not committed? _

She’s sent it before she realizes it’s not exactly stealthy. Whatever. It’s not like she had time to come up with a whole cover story.

_ Katya: I don’t know you like that, buy me a coffee first _

With a frown Trixie stares at the message. Who doesn’t at least say they’re not an axe murderer? Katya is clearly trying to move the conversation along to a different topic. That’s highly suspicious behavior if Trixie’s ever seen any. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure what to reply. If this was a person she was actually trying to date, Trixie would write something back like  _ right, so you can harvest my organs,  _ but that’s too real for this. Admittedly, it’s a big step from bicycle theft to organ theft, but still, Trixie doesn’t even want to joke about it.

_ Katya: Tell me if I’m being too forward but I’ve been thinking about you ever since we met. You’re incredibly beautiful and I would like to get to know you Trixie _

Trixie blinks in surprise at the message. None of Katya’s behavior makes sense. Shouldn’t she be trying to lay low, not try to spend time with her? And despite knowing that Katya is an untrustworthy person, there’s something stirring in her belly that Trixie firmly tells to get a grip right now. She’s not that desperate. Katya is right about her being beautiful; Trixie can find a woman who’s not a criminal anytime she wants. She doesn’t need to stoop this low; this whole thing is just about getting her bike back.

Still, Trixie isn’t used to anybody being that straightforward with her. She’s used to weeks of flirting that don’t turn into anything if she doesn’t make it happen. So many could-have-been-relationships that simply fizzled out because she was tired of always having that responsibility, because she wanted them to be as sure as she was. 

Girls find her intimidating. Trixie is big, and loud, and confident, and whoever came up with the rumor that lesbians are demure and only like to hold hands had certainly never met her. It’s unfortunate that the one woman who doesn’t seem to be bothered by any of that is the one who stole her bike. 

_ Trixie: no you’re not being too forward _

_ Katya: Excellent! _

The reply is immediate, and followed by a phone number. 

_ Katya: I prefer texting if that’s alright with you, and if not that’s cool too! I’m gonna go to bed now, I have to be up early, but I’m so glad we connected here!!! _

For a second Trixie smiles at her enthusiasm, before reminding herself it’s probably part of a scheme. She checks the time. It’s not even 9pm, who goes to bed that early? Katya is probably busy casing other places to burgle. Trixie copies her number into her contacts.

_ Trixie: it’s Trixie! good night, talk to you tomorrow _

_ Katya: Sweet dreams Miss Trixie  _

She’s added the sleeping emoji and a moon, and Trixie has to put her phone down to not let herself be charmed by it.

Katya hadn’t been lying when she said she’d be up early. By the time Trixie’s alarm goes off with plenty of time for her to get ready for work, she already has a message from Katya waiting for her, sent just after 5am.

_ Katya: Good morning, I hope you slept well _

Trixie doesn’t know when she last woke up to a good morning text, and she has to tell herself to stop being so goddamn excited about it. 

Katya is, unfortunately, hilarious and charming. Throughout the day Trixie finds herself laughing -- or at least forcefully exhaling out of her nose -- at her texts. They’re talking about nothing in particular, but Katya still manages to drop in that she thinks Trixie is gorgeous as well as a number of disturbing jokes that hum at the same deep frequency as Trixie’s humor. She flirts back; getting closer to Katya was the whole point of all this. It’s just easier than she’d like it to be. 

Trixie eagerly checks her phone when she gets off work, and then immediately gets the reality check when she has to get on the bus back home. Right. Focus. She has a job to do. Still, on the way home she texts Katya.

_ Trixie: I think we should meet up. we already have and we live in the same building, it’s kind of stupid not to. _

_ Katya: I agree! Do you wanna go for that coffee? _

_ Trixie: I’m getting home from work rn and I kind of just want to hang out, are you into that? _

_ I wouldn’t say no to you making me coffee _

Alright, that’s it. Time for Katya to make her move.

_ Katya: I’d like that! Wherever you’re comfortable I’m cool with. _

Either Katya thinks she’s stupid or she’s planning something. Whichever it is, it’s playing into Trixie’s plan right now. This way she can check out Katya’s place.

_ Trixie: great! which apartment is yours? _

She gets home, drops her bag by the door and makes a beeline for the vanity in her bedroom. Trixie is going to refresh her makeup, and then go straight up to apartment 513.

She’s curled a few strands of her hair again just to freshen it up, and there’s a new coat of bright pink on her lips. She’s swapped out her shirt for something so low cut she can never wear it to work. Trixie looks fucking hot, and she hopes it’s enough to distract Katya and get the information out of her that she needs. With a last adjustment of her cleavage she smiles and knocks on Katya’s door.

It takes a minute for Katya to answer it, but she finally pulls it open with a big smile.

“Hi!” Her voice is brimming with excitement, and it fits her hair that’s in a messy bun with strands escaping all around her face. She looks just the tiniest bit frantic with her eyes wide on Trixie. They’re so blue in person that it’s startling, and it takes Trixie a moment to remember she’s supposed to say something.

“Hey,” she flutters her lashes, “it’s so good to finally meet you, like, for real.”

There’s a sputtering sound coming from somewhere in the apartment, and the air is filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Katya steps aside to let Trixie in.

“You’ve got perfect timing, the coffee is just about done. Come in! Come in.”

Katya doesn’t wait for her, she’s already leading the way, and Trixie quickly follows into the kitchen. The apartment is on the other side of the hallway than Trixie’s, and the layout is a mirror image of her place. It makes everything strangely familiar while being completely different.

The color scheme could not be more different from Trixie’s candy store aesthetic. Katya has gone for dark woods and heavy fabrics in deep colors. It’s classic but comfortable, and the knick-knacks strewn about every surface make the place look lived in. 

“Wow, did you just keep everything as it was when the grandma who lived here passed away?” she asks, her face not betraying any emotion. Katya’s mouth drops open, and then she kind of folds in half as she shrieks with laughter.

“That’s so mean! I’m being attacked in my own home.” Despite her words, laughter is still pouring out of her. Trixie finds herself smiling at the display of unrestrained joy. “And all that when I’m making you coffee!” 

Katya steps up to the stove, still grinning, and turns off the gas under the espresso cooker sitting on a burner. She stretches her arm up to a shelf with mugs on it. Her sweater rides up, and Trixie’s eyes are drawn to the ink on her lower back. She can only see a small part of what is obviously a large back piece. It might be a snake.

“Trixie?” Katya turns to face her, a mug in each hand and her sweater back in place. Trixie’s eyes snap up to her face.

“Huh?”

“I asked how you take your coffee,” Katya explains with a knowing smile. 

“Uh, lots of milk, no sugar, please.” God damnit. She’s definitely blushing.

“Coming right up. Make yourself at home!” Katya vaguely gestures towards the door that Trixie knows leads to the living room while she opens the fridge, presumably to get milk. 

“Sure!” 

Trixie wastes no time, and steps into the room. It looks like a living room, and not even a very big one. She’s not entirely sure what she expected. Maybe her bike to just be there, or a crowbar and ski mask lying on the coffee table. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. Katya isn’t stupid; she’d hide any evidence. On the bookshelves she finds pictures of Katya with friends, and one that must be her with her mother; their smiles are so similar. 

Behind her back Trixie can hear Katya enter, and she turns around to Katya setting two mugs down on the coffee table with a smile. She gestures to the couch, and Trixie has no choice but to sit. To give her hands something to do, she picks up the coffee Katya has pushed towards her and takes a sip. The milk has cooled it off enough that she can easily drink it without burning her mouth. She can see that Katya takes her coffee black; there’s steam coming off it where she’s left it on the table.

“So, long day at work? What do you do, Trixie?” Katya’s face is open, her eyes wide, as if she’s trying to take in everything Trixie says with all her senses.

“Uhm, I’m a hair and makeup artist,” Trixie reluctantly explains. She doesn’t really want to share anything about herself. “Mostly hair, but we offer makeup too.”

Katya nods “That makes sense. I mean, with how great you always look.”

Trixie shrugs, trying hard to not let the compliment get to her. “Of course I do. That’s my job.”

Katya only grins, and then grabs her mug, taking a tiny sip after blowing on the surface of her still steaming coffee. She puts it down again right away, huffing in a clear attempt to cool off her burned tongue. For a thief she’s not exactly graceful. 

“And what do you do that requires you to get up that early?” Trixie asks, to bide her time, but also because she’s genuinely curious.

“It doesn’t always! I work at the deli on the corner of Eighth and Hill Street?”

Trixie hums. She knows it, but hasn’t been there in ages.

“I’ve got the morning shift this week, so I have to open up,” Katya explains. 

“That sounds gruesome.” The salon opens at 9, and a few times a week Trixie will complain about that ungodly time to anyone who has the misfortune of being in the vicinity.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Katya waves the concern away with a careless hand, getting dangerously close to her coffee cup. “I’m an early bird anyway. The late shift bothers me more because then I’m home all morning and have to find something useful to do.”

Once again Trixie just hums. That sounds like something an insane person would say. It’s a good thing she’s already no longer interested in Katya. Because of the bike thing. Obviously. And so far she hasn’t gotten anywhere with that. She abruptly sets her mug down.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

Katya blinks in surprise. “Uh, yeah, sure, it’s right across--”

“From the front door, I know,” Trixie interrupts, already standing up. In the hallway she closes the door to the living room, and instead of going to the bathroom she quietly opens the door to the bedroom, and quickly slips inside. There’s no way Katya is hiding anything in the bathroom, it’s tiny, Trixie knows because hers is too.

To her disappointment there’s no bike in the bedroom either. There’s mismatched furniture that somehow all works together when it shouldn’t. The bed is unmade, but it doesn’t look messy. There’s only one pillow and a blanket. The nightstand is on the side near the window, and Trixie can easily imagine how Katya wakes up to the first rays of sunshine on her face, cold air from the open window making her pull the blanket all the way up to her nose and wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. With a frown Trixie turns away from the bed. None of this is helpful.

In the space at the foot of the bed a yoga mat is spread out. Next to the wardrobe a full-length mirror is tucked into a corner. It has more photos of Katya with friends and family stuck under the frame, along with a few art postcards. They hardly leave enough room to actually see yourself in the mirror. At least Trixie can’t. Katya probably doesn’t have that problem; she’s much shorter than Trixie, and petite despite the muscles moving underneath her tattoos. She has a few plants scattered around the room, but there’s nothing exciting for Trixie to see here.

“You know, you could have just asked if you wanted to see the bedroom.”

At Katya’s voice Trixie whips around to the door. Katya is leaning against the frame with a smile on her face. She doesn’t look angry or even surprised. She saunters towards Trixie, and only stops when she’s right in front of her.

“Do you like it?”

Trixie doesn’t reply, too busy trying to come up with a way to maneuver herself out of this situation.

“Are you okay, Trix?” Katya is no longer smiling; she looks a little worried. It’s the nickname that sets Trixie off. Katya has no right to just throw that kind of familiarity at her.

“I know what you did!” She jabs her index finger into Katya’s chest, feeling the warmth of her skin through the sweater.

“What?” She’s a good actress; if she didn’t know better, Trixie would believe the confusion on Katya’s face.

“You can stop pretending; I saw you with my bike!” Trixie pulls her finger back only to point it directly at Katya’s face. “I’m not stupid. Did you really think you could just paint it pink, and I wouldn’t notice it’s mine? That you  _ stole _ ?”

Katya’s face turns from confusion to horror.

“Oh my God, I  _ did _ steal your bike.” Her voice is small and breathy, her eyes wide with panic. “Trixie, I’m so sorry, that was never my intention!” She has both hands raised in an appeasing gesture, but Trixie is not in the mood to be appeased.

“What the hell do you mean? How do you accidentally steal a bike?”

“No, no, I took it, I did, it’s just--” To Trixie’s astonishment Katya laughs, just for a moment. “I took it, but was always going to return it. I finished today; I was going to--” She exhales and lets her hands sink to her sides. “Can I show you something?” While Trixie is still looking at her nervous face, Katya adds, “Please?”

“What do you want to show me?” Trixie asks with narrowed eyes.

“Your bike. It’s back in the yard where you left it, I promise.” When Trixie just stands there and looks at her, Katya starts walking backwards to the door. “Please?”

“Fine,” Trixie huffs. What else is she supposed to do?

Katya quickly grabs her keys and stuff them into the pocket of her jeans as she pulls on a pair of sneakers. They’re quiet while they descend the stairs and make their way into the backyard. 

It’s there, leaning against the wall where it should be. Her bike, only nicer and more  _ her _ . Trixie looks it over, and then turns to Katya.

“Explain?”

“So,” Katya starts, looking embarrassed, “I was getting my bike ready to be used again after the winter a few weeks ago, and I noticed yours had a flat tire so I quickly pumped it up, since I already had the pump there. But then I came down a few days later, and it was flat again. So I figured the tire must have a hole, got my stuff from the basement, located the hole and patched it. While I was doing that I noticed the brake pads were really worn down which is, you know, seriously dangerous. I replaced mine last year and still had some spare parts, so I figured I’d quickly do that too.”

“Who  _ does _ that?” Trixie interrupts her, completely baffled. Katya only shrugs awkwardly. 

“Anyway, I replaced the brakes, and the paint was chipping off in some places, and I figured you might like it better in pink.”

“And what? You happened to have some pink paint standing around?” Trixie asks incredulously.

“No, I ordered that,” Katya admits quietly. Then they’re both silently staring at the bike.

“It has a basket,” Trixie finally says to break the silence. “I didn’t have one before.”

Katya scratches her forehead and shrugs again. “I thought that would look cute.” It’s so unexpected that Trixie barks out a laugh. After another moment of silence and them not looking at each other, Trixie finally turns to Katya.

“Why?” is all she manages to ask.

“Because I like you,” Katya says matter-of-factly. “At first I just wanted to do something nice for you. And then I figured, you know, this might be a good way to like, you know, make a move.” Katya is blushing, and yet she’s still looking at Trixie, who can see how her throat works when she swallows.

It feels like a hand settles on Trixie’s back, and pushes her towards Katya, closer and closer until she has no choice but to wind her fingers into Katya’s sweater over her chest.

“Thank God,” she exhales, feeling relief flood through and finally out of her. “I wouldn’t have known what to do if I couldn’t like you.”

Then she pulls, making Katya tumble into her with a surprised little noise that Trixie drowns out with her own mouth. She wastes no time, pushing her tongue between Katya’s plush lips, not even bothered by the taste of too-strong coffee. Katya quickly gets over the shock, and her arms come around Trixie's waist, pulling her in so that they're pressed together from tip to toe. The way she then splays her hand at the small of Trixie's back makes Trixie sigh into her mouth.

They break apart gasping, and all Trixie can see is how blown out Katya's eyes are. She watches as Katya pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, as if she's not ready to let go of their kiss yet.

"This," Trixie explains, still breathing heavily, "is the sweetest and weirdest thing anyone has ever done for me. I'm so glad I was wrong."

Katya giggles, honest to god  _ giggles _ . "Well, technically you weren't wrong. I'm sorry, I really didn't think about how it would look that I just took it. You never said anything about the fixed tire, so I figured you wouldn't notice. I should have offered first instead of just doing it. I even, oh my God--" With one hand she reaches behind Trixie towards the basket on the bike, and pulls out a lock. "I got you this so nobody would steal it, now that it looks so nice." She drops the lock in the basket again, starts laughing only slightly hysterically, and drops her head against Trixie's shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, Trixie brings her other hand up to cradle Katya's skull. The laughing stops, and is replaced by a hum when Trixie runs her fingers over the back of Katya's neck. When she lifts her head again, her eyes are heavy. This time it's Katya who goes in for the kiss, but Trixie is ready. She's waited for this long enough.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward," Trixie quotes Katya back at her, and she snorts, "but I would really like to have sex with you right about now, if that's something you're interested in." Trixie is direct, but not usually this direct. Katya being so outrageously brazen has made her brave.

Katya shrieks with delight, and the sound of it bounces off the walls around them, filling the whole yard. She visibly collects herself, forcing herself not to smile with mixed success. She takes both of Trixie’s hands in hers.

“Yes, I would like that very much.” Then her face splits into a grin again, and she takes off, pulling Trixie behind her. 

“My apartment,” Trixie pants when they’ve made it up to the second floor, faster than Trixie ever has before. “Closer,” she adds for explanation. Katya nods, and lets her take the lead, still not letting go of Trixie’s hand. 

“Oh, you’re right across from Mrs. Johnson!” Katya remarks while Trixie unlocks her door. She’s not even out of breath, the bitch.

“Uh-huh,” is all Trixie says. She pushes her door open, Katya following close behind and shutting it again. Then Trixie is on her again. 

Katya kisses with certainty but no rush. She dips into Trixie’s mouth with the same gentle pressure that her hands explore Trixie’s back, hips, and ass with. When Trixie absolutely has to pull back in order to get some oxygen into her system, she immediately misses the warmth of Katya’s lips on hers.

“I love the bike,” she murmurs with her cheek leaning against Katya’s. “And I really like you. Even though you’re a lunatic.”

Their cheeks squish together with Katya’s smile. “Believe it or not, I’ve been told that before.” They exchange a small kiss, and then Trixie puts her palm flat on Katya’s chest, pushing herself away a little. 

“Seriously, if you’d asked me to sleep with you an hour ago I’m not sure I would have said no, even though I thought you were a thief.”

Katya barks out a laugh that she cuts short by leaning in to kiss Trixie again. 

“I did want to ask you, but I’m glad I didn’t, and we got this figured out first.”

Trixie hums. “Yeah, sure. Could we move it along? I’ve thought about this for a long time.”

Katya laughs, low and breathy, and Trixie can feel it all over her skin. “Right, what exactly have you been thinking about? I don’t want to disappoint.”

Trixie snorts. “As long as I get to look at your arms, I don’t think you even need to do anything, so you can relax.” She pushes her hands under Katya’s jeans, shamelessly groping her ass. “But I’ve been thinking about riding your face.”

The back of Katya’s head hits the door with a  _ thunk _ . “Fuck.”

“Yeah? That sound good, baby?”

“Uh, yeah, that sounds incredible.” Katya lets Trixie lead her into the living room, willingly sitting down on the couch when Trixie gently pushes her, letting Trixie climb into her lap. “I’ve been hoping to get suffocated by that ass,” she adds, her hands settling on said ass and squeezing. “And at my funeral they’ll put up a picture of you, and everyone will say  _ Good for her. _ ”

“Sure.” This is too much talking for Trixie. She grabs the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head, carelessly throwing it somewhere behind her. Katya stops talking when she has Trixie’s tits right in front of her, and Trixie looks down at her with her eyebrows raised in a clear invitation to do something. The bra she’s wearing is at least a cup size too small by now, making her almost spill over. She refuses to throw it out; it was expensive, and the baby pink satin feels so good when she runs her hands over herself. Trixie does exactly that to give Katya an idea what her hands could be up to right now. She hams it up as much as she can, turning the soft sigh that wants to escape her into a moan, and arching her back so she’s pushing her tits even more in Katya’s face.

Katya just sits there with her mouth open, and stares. When Trixie pinches her nipples through the bra, Katya makes a tiny high-pitched noise, and her hips roll up into Trixie. Trixie moans again when she opens her bra, and shrugs out of it. Katya is still only staring, but she’s frowning with concentration. 

Trixie sighs. “Are you gonna fuck me now or what?” 

“Oh my God, yes, absolutely.” Katya comes back to herself, and puts her hands on Trixie’s waist. She pushes upwards, her thumbs on Trixie’s ribs, and then sliding her hands around so she can cup Trixie’s breasts. She squeezes, hard enough that Trixie can actually feel it, and she’s relieved she doesn’t have to tell Katya not to be overly careful with her. The appreciative noises Trixie makes seem to spur Katya on. She puts one arm around Trixie’s back, quickly turns and pulls so that she’s lying down with Trixie on top of her. Then she grins up at Trixie.

“Hello, hi! I reserved a seat for you.”

Trixie snorts, and leans down for a quick kiss. “You’ll have to let me get up so I can take my pants off.”

“Oh, right, that would be helpful.”

Trixie scrambles to get off the couch. The sooner she’s out of her jeans, the sooner she’ll get Katya’s tongue in her. 

“Come on, get naked. I said I want to see your arms,” she orders while gracelessly pulling her tight pants over her feet, and Katya laughs, but complies. Under her sweater she only has a thin sports bra on, and her nipples are pushing against the fabric. She pulls her jeans down too, and realizes too late that she’s still wearing shoes, leaving her awkwardly with her pants around her ankles while untying her sneakers. Then she’s down to her underwear, and turns her attention towards Trixie again.

She had been waiting for that. Trixie doesn’t take her panties off for anybody who isn’t even looking at her. They’re not the matching ones for the bra, but they’re still cute with the pink floral print and the cream-colored lace border that sits so nicely on her ass. She makes sure to turn to the side a little so that Katya -- who is lying on her side, face resting on her hand -- can actually see the curve of her ass. As Trixie starts pulling the last piece of clothing on her body down, Katya watches with laser focus, and bites her lip. 

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters when Trixie steps out of the panties. She’s breathing heavily and her eyes are dark with want. Trixie smiles. It’s how she likes to be looked at, at least by somebody she wants so badly too. Katya still has her sports bra and a pair of boy shorts on, and Trixie gets a good impression of how much of her skin is covered in tattoos. A lot of it, it turns out, and some of them still being hidden by Katya’s underwear makes Trixie’s fingers itch to take them off. 

As she climbs on top of Katya again, Trixie thinks how comfortable Katya looks, how at home she appears on Trixie’s powder blue couch, and how much she hopes this won’t be the last time she sees Katya like this. Then she doesn’t think anything anymore, because Katya’s arms are hooking around her thighs, her fingers stroking the soft skin at the inside, and pulling her down.

Trixie watches with her mouth slightly open how Katya’s face smoothes out when her mouth makes contact with Trixie’s pussy. Her eyes close, and she hums in apparent bliss as she gently but purposefully parts Trixie’s labia with her tongue. She moves her face around, and Trixie moans at the smooth glide of skin on skin slicked by her wetness. She helps spread it by rocking her hips back and forth, finding a rhythm where she has the pressure of Katya’s tongue or her nose against her clit. Trixie probably couldn’t stop if she wanted to; it feels so good. She loses herself in the movement, until Katya opens her eyes, meeting Trixie’s, and takes one hand off her thigh. 

Trixie sees the hand swinging through the air, but she still gasps more out of surprise than pain when it lands on her ass with an audible smack. There hadn’t been much force behind it, and the skin where the slap landed feels tingly once the initial sting fades. She drives her hips down harder against Katya’s face.

“Again,” she presses out, and Katya quickly smacks her again. This time the tingle lasts longer, and leaves her skin feeling hot. Katya’s hand gently settles in the same spot, massaging the tender flesh. At the same time her tongue pushes into Trixie. The feeling is fucking amazing, but the thought of Katya moving inside her is even better. 

Trixie lifts herself off Katya’s face, that’s shiny, pink and Katya slowly blinks up at her with heavy lids. 

“Was that not good, honey?” she asks slowly, clearly struggling to string enough words together for a whole sentence. Trixie is already laying herself along Katya’s body, half on top of her on the narrow couch. Once she’s settled, she grabs Katya’s hand and guides it towards her pussy.

“It was great, but I want to come on your fingers.”  _ I want my face to be close to your face _ , she doesn’t say, the intensity of the thought taking her by surprise. Maybe she’ll tell Katya at some point, when they’ve been in this for longer than half an hour. 

Katya goes straight in with two fingers that sink into Trixie with no resistance. She moans when she feels her wetness squish out around Katya’s fingers. Even if she doesn’t feel it, Katya must hear the noise it makes. 

“Oh my God,” she mutters, and then she starts moving, fucking Trixie slowly but filling her as deeply as she can with every stroke. 

Trixie searches out her lips for a kiss, her movements getting unfocused and sloppy with Katya’s hand speeding up. She whimpers into Katya’s mouth when she slides a third finger into Trixie. It doesn’t take long for her to feel herself teetering on the edge of her orgasm, knowing it’s not enough to make her come but not wanting to do anything to help to make the feeling last. Then Katya starts whispering against her sweaty-slick cheek.

“God, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen; I can’t believe I get to touch you like this.” She scrapes her teeth along Trixie’s jaw. “Can you come for me, baby?”

Trixie just whines. 

“I know you can do it; you’re so good.”

Trixie scrambles to get one hand between their bodies. Her fingers bump against Katya’s that are still pumping into her as she dips down to gather some wetness. She rubs over her clit with jerky, uncoordinated circles, and then Trixie is coming with her head thrown back and her whole body jerking on Katya’s hand. 

Afterwards Trixie drops down on Katya completely boneless. When she regains her senses, Katya is slowly stroking up and down her back, murmuring about how good and hot and beautiful Trixie is. Trixie hums with a deep satisfaction that goes beyond what an orgasm can give her. 

“You look happy,” Katya says quietly, the smile audible in her voice.

“I am.” Trixie pushes herself up just far enough that she can look at Katya’s face. She can feel herself grinning, too thrilled for her face to be able to contain all that joy. “I finally got the hot gay neighbor I’ve been staring at through the spyhole to fuck me.”

Katya gasps. “You’ve been stalking me!” Her hand stops stroking for a moment to prod Trixie in the side. 

Trixie giggles airily, and leans down to kiss Katya. “Oh wow, I guess I was the criminal all along.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments warm my gay little heart! You can also leave me a message on tumblr where I'm at [connyhascontrol](https://connyhascontrol.tumblr.com/).


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